


Sing Me a Song, Siren

by Overdressedtokill (SkyeStan)



Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-10
Updated: 2013-03-10
Packaged: 2017-12-04 21:38:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/715378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkyeStan/pseuds/Overdressedtokill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sha’lain’a is as strong as the sea, and far more proud.  But David will tame her.  He will.  (Set in the past).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sing Me a Song, Siren

**Author's Note:**

> I was interested in exploring what I though the relationship between Black Manta and Sha’lain’a might’ve been like, that being said, **MAJOR TRIGGER WARNINGS ARE IN PLACE FOR THIS STORY** (noncon, abuse). Manta is the narrator here, the perception is skewed. There are terrible things implied, there are terrible things that are stated outright. Of course, I love it when people read my stories, but this is a highly disturbing piece. Please keep that in mind.
> 
> Originally posted to my tumblr in January 2013

“If this were a cage, Sha’lain’a,” David hisses, his hand around her arm, “there would be bars on the windows.” She says nothing, as she always does-but he doesn’t want to lose his temper with her anymore. “I’m being a very generous man. I’ve given you the finest quarters anyone could ask for.” She pulls her arm out of his grasp, violently, her brow furrowed in a fiery glare.

“Then let me leave, Manta,” she spits. David sighs.

“I told you a thousand times to call me David,” he offers, quietly, but all she can do is cross her arms.

“I will call you what I please.” she retorts. He makes a move towards her and she takes a heavy step back.

“Sha’lain’a,” he pleads, or tries to, “I can make your life so much easier,” She eyes him warily, hatefully, as she always does, “if you’d only give yourself to me.” This, it would seem, is the statement of the night that sets her off, and she marches over to Manta and shoves him, defiant and proud and beautiful. He grabs her wrists, tightly-she’s got such slender arms, such small wrists-she struggles to pull away again, but he is not as kind.

“You make this harder on yourself.” he snarls at her squirming figure, pulling her in closer, so that he can wrap his arm around her back. “And you’re getting too thin.”

“Does my appearance displease you?” she snaps, eyes ablaze. She mocks him, she always mocks him. She is in no position to mock him. He makes a point of pressing her to him, of tilting her chin up so that she’s looking into his eyes.

“I am always pleased by your appearance,” he mutters. She glares daggers, swords, even, a thousand pinpricks under his skin screaming with a bubbling, burning hatred. “I think you should join me for dinner tonight,” he muses. “I am not an unkind soul. I just want you to be happy with me.” She shakes her head violently, until he grabs a fistful of her golden hair and stops her- “and let me add that it is not an optional event.” She swears at him, yet another atlantean curse-he doesn’t know the language well enough, yet, to completely understand her, but he knows she means ill. He releases her, pretending not to notice the way she stands there, glaring at his back as he leaves. Like he can’t feel the fire that’s raging, ready to consume him. She will change. He will make her change.

“Don’t be late.” he says, before he slams the door behind him.

 

If David says he’s happy about this, he’s lying. What kind of monster would enjoy keeping a beautiful woman captive? And it wasn’t-isn’t supposed to be like this. He hates making her flinch but he needs to touch her-to assure himself that she’s real and that she’s in his arms. Sha’lain’a never cries-she bites his tongue and draws blood, every so often, and he’ll scream and throw her across the room-how dare she? And she never accepts his apologies. He has so many things to apologize for. Why can’t she-why does she-David can’t think like that. He can’t afford to. There’s a thousand why nots with her, always perched on the tip of his tongue-but she’ll never answer. Even when he strokes her hair, when he asks her so nicely. No woman has ever done this to him. And he could have another woman, one who wouldn’t lock herself in the private bathroom he had so politely provided, and forced him to blow the door down, to drag her out by her hair. He shakes at the memory.

“Calvin,” he mutters, darkly, and his right hand is across the room and at his side in a second, “bring Sha’lain’a to dinner for me.” Calvin nods, and if David weren’t lost in thought he might’ve noticed the slight frown tugging at the corner of Calvin’s mouth-but his mind is elsewhere, on dinner, on her, on what it might be like to actually make her smile. Perhaps like being swallowed by the sun.

 

Dinner begins with deathly silence, as all these meals do-Sha’lain’a will glare at her food like it personally offends her. Only at her food. She won’t meet his gaze until he forces her.

“Is something wrong with the meal?” David asks. He moves his own meal around with a fork, waiting.

“It’s fine.” she mutters without lifting her head. He cuts a forkful of his own steak, chewing it down without breaking his gaze on her.

“Then eat,” he demands, cutting another piece. His fork scrapes the plate. She pauses, finally raising her head-and catches his eye.

“I don’t know what it is.” she says. Her upper lip twitches slightly in disgust-whether it is with him or with the meal, he’s not sure.

“It’s red meat,” he vibrates, “it’s very common on the surface.” She looks down again, her lips drawn into a line. When she meets his gaze again, there’s that same terrible spark. Without another seconds hesitation, she raises her fork and violently stabs it into her meal, cutting it quickly and harshly. Her eyes are boring into him and she scrapes her teeth against the fork.

“Happy?” she asks, blanching as she swallows.

“Thrilled.” he replies. He half expects her to put her fork down, to stop eating, but she cuts and eats still, wielding her knife like she’s ready to stab someone with it (him, most likely). He places his hand over her arm, slowly, gently, trying to smile.

“I’m glad you like it,” he says, “but you should slow down. Enjoy the company.” She glowers at him, her eyes just momentarily flitting to the knife in her right hand- “that wouldn’t be wise.” His voice is lower now, more dangerous. “Don’t ruin a perfectly good meal.”

“Then let me eat,” she retorts, “so I can get this meal over with.” He doesn’t move his hand from her arm.

“Sha’lain’a,” he whispers. Always whispering her name. Praying to her. “I just want you to be happy.” She flexes her fingers on the handle of her knife, jamming it down into the table. David sees Calvin twitch out of the corner of his eye, clench his jaw. But David can focus only, truly, on Sha’lain’a. Her fingers twitch again, her shoulders stiffen.

“No,” she snarls, “You want me to be happy that you’ve decided to keep me as a pet.” The word is spat out with abject loathing. He reaches for her face, cupping her jaw and tracing the line of her mouth. If only she would smile.

“That’s not how I see you. Not at all. You’re strong willed and beautiful and I am honored to have you at my side.” She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t blink.

“Am I supposed to be flattered?” she sneers. And it cuts him, more than he’s willing to let her know. His hand tightens on her arm.

“You should be grateful,” he answers. She returns his glare with equal intensity. Her lip quivers, though, suddenly, he breath grows short and she grabs the table. David raises and eyebrow, moves out of his seat to drape his arms around her-to offer comfort-when she begins to retch. It’s a disgusting, disturbing sound, as her body heaves and she shakes her head, trying to stand, trying to-she gags again, and she vomits. David pushes back her hair frantically, grabbing at her shoulders and stroking her back as she empties her stomach back on to her plate. His men are kind enough to turn away.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, “I should’ve known, I thought you’d like red meat-”

“Don’t touch me,” she screams, pushing back, still gagging, wiping the corners of her mouth. Her eyes have begun to water and she shakes.

“Let me clean you up,” he offers. She’s already backing away. She shakes her head again, her wild hair beginning to matte with her sweat. He can’t stand to see her like this. “I insist,” he says, trying to be tender, half cradling her as he drags her back to his quarters. He turns his head back for just a moment, at his men, at the ruined dinner, and snarls. “Clean this up,” he orders.

 

David waits for the sink water to warm before he wets a washcloth and dabs it around the corner’s of her mouth, drawn into a frown. He’s got Sha’lain’a sitting on the countertop, his hand on her knee-he means to comfort, to hold her in place.

“I’m sorry,” he says again. Her mouth is a natural shade of coral, soft to the touch and always scowling, at least when he’s around. He pauses in his efforts, only to study her face in the light of his bathroom. “You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” he whispers, perhaps only to himself. She wrenches her eyes shut and turns her head away. “Sha’lain’a, my last intention is to hurt you.” he moved her hand under her chin, “you’re dear to me. _S’agpo._ ” He had practiced the word a thousand times, yet he still feels his voice hitch at the end. It doesn’t sound right. It sounds so unlike the language she speaks. The one that he so desperately wants to understand. 

“You do not say that to me,” she hisses. “You do not know the meaning of the word.” She grabs his wrist more forcefully than she’s ever done before, wrenching his hand away from her face with a newly refreshed hatred.

“It means that I love you,” he offers, still trying to go for sweet. “I’ve loved you since I first saw you.” She shakes. He can see it, the look on her face, the way she’s biting back her tears. “It’s okay,” he says softly, wrestling his wrist from her grip and tracing under her eyes, “it’s alright, my dear.” Her shoulders quake with every breath but she’s so stubborn-even still, she tries to shake his hand away.

“What do you want from me?” she finally asks, but her voice does not falter-she sounds as though she is striking a deal.

“Your love.” he replies. With kindness. In earnest. He slides his hand from her knee up her thigh.

“Then you will always be unhappy,” she sneers, “because you wish for the impossible.” His grip on her thigh tightens.

“I have done many impossible things, dear,” he says, mocks, “I do not accept failure.” He smiles at her, saccharine and feral, running his fingers through her golden hair. She stares him down. She does not look away, she does not flinch.

“I’m not afraid of you.” she says, and he knows that she means it. His fingers find a knot in her hair and pull.

“I don’t want you to be.” And he doesn’t-he really doesn’t. He wants her to stop fighting him, of course. But never fear him. “Come to bed with me, Sha’lain’a.” he murmurs.

“Do I have a choice?” she demands, still staring, still proud. His smile doesn’t falter.

“No.”


End file.
